Justice
by smacky30
Summary: Grissom and Brass. A bit of bourbon. A lot of truth. And a big decision. Rated T for language. Spoilers through 9X07.


**Disclaimer: Not Mine.**

**A/N: Once again many thanks to Losingntrnslatn and Mingsmommy for their help. It is truly appreciated.**

The establishment was deserted save for the bartender and a middle-aged couple playing video poker at the machines in the corner. But then, it was seven thirty in the morning.

The mustard colored vinyl covering the booth seats was cracked and torn. The acrid odors of cigarette smoke and stale beer filled the air. Canned muzak competed with the chimes of the video machines, creating a background noise that was pure Vegas. Its only saving grace was the location; three blocks from LVPD. That was why Grissom and Brass found themselves seated at the bar, forearms resting on the smooth surface.

"You did the right thing." Brass took a sip from the tumbler he was holding.

Grissom rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Did I, Jim?"

"You know you did, Gil." Brass nodded. "You couldn't ignore what you found."

"Then why was it so hard for me to do?" He turned bewildered eyes toward his friend.

"Because you're human." Taking another sip of bourbon, Brass just shook his head, a sad smile playing around his mouth. "Because the crazy bitch messed up your life."

Nodding, Grissom tossed back the rest of his drink and signaled for another round. While he waited he studied his reflection in the cloudy mirror behind the bar. A stranger stared back at him. Until today he was sure he knew who he was and what he believed in. But once again Natalie Davis had shown him something about himself.

Seeing her again after a year was harder than he imagined it would be. Much harder. Her talk of changing, of feeling remorse, made him sick. No amount of medication would ever change what she had done. She was a killer. And even though Sara escaped with her body intact, something inside her died in that desert.

Finding the miniature of Natalie with the noose around her neck had given him a perverse sense of pleasure. And for a moment he had contemplated replacing that floor tile and pretending he'd never lifted it. It would be so easy to keep it to himself; to keep her secret and, by doing so, allow her to destroy something within him too. Instead, he had done his job and Natalie was, once again, safe from herself.

With a tired smile, the bartender set their new drinks in front of them and wandered off to the other end of the bar. Grissom took a long sip, relishing the burn of the liquor, the smooth heat warming him from the inside out.

"I want…_wanted_ her to die." The words were soft as if giving them voice would actually make it happen.

"I think, under the circumstances, that's a normal reaction." Brass ran a hand over his face, and chuckled. "That's it, isn't it? You don't like being normal."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Brass met his eyes in the mirror. "What do you think?"

After a long moment of staring into his glass, looking for answers that would never appear, Grissom began to nod. "I've never questioned the law before. It's been the one constant in my life. Since I was sixteen I've given it everything. And right now, I feel like it let me down."

Taking another sip of whiskey, Brass gave a wry grin. "This is a court of law, young man, not a court of justice."

"Holmes?" Grissom's eyes widened at Brass' words.

"The great Oliver Wendell himself." Seeing Grissom's surprised look, he chuckled. "You think you're the only one who reads?"

Shaking his head, Grissom blushed, color spreading over his cheeks. "No. Of course not."

"All I'm saying is there will never be justice where Natalie is concerned. The law can't do that." With a shrug, Brass added, "It's different when you're the victim, Gil."

Silence descended; the comfortable quiet that can exist only between friends. The two sipped at their drinks, each lost in their own thoughts.

Grissom recalled his first meeting with Natalie. The blank stare. The eerie song. The fear and desperation that made his stomach churn. The burning desire to beat Sara's location out of her.

Never had he let his emotions rule his behavior with a suspect. Not until the victim was Sara. Not until he could feel his life slipping away with every tick of the second hand.

"I miss her, Jim." Grissom twirled the ice in his glass, watching it intently.

A grin slid over Brass' mouth, brief and a little sad. "I do, too."

Jerking his head around, Grissom nailed him with a glare. "I don't think…"

"Whoa." Holding up a hand, Brass cut him off. "I know it's not the same."

Turning away from his knowing gaze, Grissom took another sip of whiskey. "She left me."

"Yeah, but I thought you guys were dealing with that."

"No," Grissom shook his head. "She…um…she…broke up with me." His voice was hoarse with repressed emotion. "God, that sounds so juvenile."

"Oh," he studied Grissom's profile, "Well…I don't… Why?"

With a shake of his head, Grissom ignored the question. "I always knew this would happen. I knew it would come down to choosing between the two."

Genuinely puzzled, Brass asked, "Choosing?"

"Yeah, she…um…she told me that not making a decision is the same thing as making one." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Grissom chuffed out a laugh. "Heather said the same thing."

"What?" Brass stiffened and his hand clenched into fists. Pushing back so that he was no longer leaning on the bar, he glared at the man next to him. "Sara dumped you because you couldn't choose between her and Heather?"

"What? No!" Looking at Brass he saw the anger roiling in his eyes. "No. Sara wanted me to choose between her and the lab."

"Gil," Brass' voice was low and angry, "Right now I want nothing more than to kick your ass. You need to clear this up for me."

"I went to see Heather about the Ian Wallace case."

"And?"

"And nothing." Grissom swallowed the last of the bourbon in his glass. "I needed somebody to talk to and she listened. Without judging me."

Embarrassed, Brass looked away.

"Sara…she wanted me to go away with her. But Warrick was gone and we were short handed…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged. "Then I said some really stupid things."

Brass turned away. "Imagine that," he mumbled.

"Yeah, _imagine__ that_." He signaled the bartender for another round. "She just left, Jim. No discussion. No recriminations. She just packed up and left while I was at work."

"What did you say to her?"

Waving a hand, he brushed the question away. "That's not important."

Shaking his head, Brass took a sip of his drink. "That bad?"

His last conversation with Sara pulsed through his brain and he rubbed at his temples. "Worse."

"Look, Gil, I'm sure if you'd just call her, you could work this out." Brass rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Hell, Riley's here and the new guy will be here in a couple of weeks. Take some time off. Go see her."

"She's gone." Seeing Brass' confusion, he added, "On a ship in the South Pacific."

"That's where she wanted you to go?"

Grissom nodded. "She sent an email. Well, a video. Told me she was happy. Said things were better this way." Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Grissom continued, "Damn, Jim, _nothing_ is better this way."

With a harsh chuckle, Brass glanced at him, noting the dejected slump of his shoulders. "Let you off the hook again, huh?"

Grissom turned, his thoughts and movements slowed by the alcohol he had consumed. "What?"

"If I know anything, I know that woman loves you." Brass shook his head. "God only knows why, but she does. I've watched her overlook your screw ups for years. If she says she's happy without you, she's lying. And if she's lying, she's doing it for you."

Through the haze of bourbon, Grissom saw her face. Her smile was a little too big. And her eyes weren't happy but sad and haunted. She fiddled with her hair, tucking it behind her ear in that way she had when she was upset. He heard her words again, but this time he listened with his head instead of his heart. And the message was suddenly very different. Even though he was sure she was telling the truth about some things, he realized she _was_ lying to him about the important things.

"Oh Sara." The words slipped out, a whisper that was lost in the music.

Watching his friend, Brass knew the exact moment Grissom realized the truth. "You are an idiot."

"Yeah, I am." Fumbling in his back pocket, Grissom dug out his wallet. Catching the bartender's eye he signaled for the check.

Grissom paid the tab and left a hefty tip. "I need to go, Jim. I've got an email to reply to."

"Don't fuck this up, Gil."

"I can't, Jim." Grissom slid off the barstool and shoved his wallet back in his pocket. "When your whole life depends on getting it right, fucking it up is not an option."

"'Bout time you learned that lesson." With a smile, Brass shrugged into his jacket. "Come on, Romeo, I'll call you a cab from my office."


End file.
